Memory Thief
by annaisadinosaur
Summary: "It's... peculiar. How I'm feeling now. I'm used to girls fancying me. Used to fancying girls. I'm seventeen. Feeling like this shouldn't be a big deal, you know? But it's because it's not a girl. It's Remus." When Sirius comes across a stack of letters he'd written himself years earlier, he finds he doesn't remember any of it. Someone's got some explaining to do.
1. Chapter 1

**Written for the My Future Self Competition. Warning, a bit of slash. I'm relatively new to writing it, though, so it should be fairly mild. Thanks for reading. You're all dears. x**

. . . . .

**Memory Thief**

_o n e_

. . . . .

"Hell, you've got too many stupid things," Remus growled, dropping the last box on the dusty floorboards with a deafening thud.

Sirius was running his hands through a disarray of old items, lost in the feeling of reliving memories he'd forgotten he'd ever had. He didn't look up. "Maybe you're just weak is all, Remus."

"Right. This house is too dreary. Ever consider a change of curtains?"

"Get me some for Christmas," Sirius suggested vaguely.

"They're _ancient_. Older than Dumbledore, I reckon."

"Probably appropriate. We are in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, after all," Sirius mumbled with a grimace. He discovered a stack of folded parchment bound with white string, hidden at the bottom of the box. He wrestled it out, furrowing his brow curiously, and held it up for Remus to see. "Do you know what this is?"

"Dunno. I never opened any of this rubbish," Remus answered, shrugging.

Sirius didn't blame him. Years ago, he'd left boxes and boxes of things at James's house, for "safe keeping." (In reality, he didn't have enough room in his dinky flat to store all the nonsense he'd collected.) When James died, Remus had taken in all of the stuff and locked it in his cellar. If it'd been him and his best friend had been convicted as a murderer, he wouldn't have touched it, either. In fact, he probably would have burned it all on the spot. He honestly still wondered why Remus hadn't.

"I'm going to get food," Remus announced, rubbing the back of his neck, looking uncertain. "You don't have any. And you can't leave. Yeah." He paused. "I'll be back."

"Okay," Sirius said, raising a brow, but Remus just shook his head and left the room. Far off, he could hear the _pop_ of him disapparating.

Sirius's attention fell back to the pile of parchment in his hands, and out of rapidly growing curiosity, he untied the knot at the top and gingerly pulled apart what appeared to be a stack of letters. He opened the first, eyes falling over writing that distinctly looked like his own. Or, at least, what it had been. He hadn't really properly written in twelve years, so he was fairly certain his handwriting likely resembled that of a hippogriff's. It was none the matter, though.

_Sirius, _

_Why, hello handsome fellow._

_No matter if you're eighty years old and wrinkly and saggy and wasting your life away, I hope you remember the days when you were quite the looker. You better. Have some damn self-confidence. Don't put that good body to waste. I worked hard on it. And don't say I'm being over-confident. I'm only saying it for your sake. Perhaps things have changed now, but at least you'll know that you were a lady's man once upon a time. Bam, self-confidence increased. Exactly. You're welcome._

Things had changed, that was undeniably true. His hair could probably use a wash, too. But he used to be quite handsome, so what did it matter, right?

Not really. He'd bathe later. If there was soap in the damn house. That was a valid concern.

He turned his attention to his letter, and the thought briefly passed through his head that he had no memory of ever writing this letter whatsoever.

_Anyway, on a more serious note. (I hope you've grown out of thinking the 'serious' pun is humorous. There is a world of humor out there waiting for you, mate.) Things have been odd lately. And I don't mean "Peter was sleepwalking and mumbling about chocolate frogs" kind of odd, either. Lily's agreed to go out with Prongs. He told me. Kind of screamed it at me, actually. Their date's tomorrow. Something's wrong with the universe, Padfoot. This is so revolutionary that I've got to record it in writing. _

_Dunno where they'll go, though. Hogsmeade has been closed down. Another odd thing. We're not allowed to visit anymore on the weekends because there was a Death Eater raid, and things are getting pretty bad. _

Well, he remembered that. He and James had gone and snuck out with his old Invisibility cloak in the middle of the day, only to find out that all the shops were boarded up. It had been a particular failure of an afternoon.

_And probably most odd of all... well, it's got to do with Moony, but I don't really want to write it down. Too soon. I still don't really understand what happened. But Cara used to write a lot. She said it helped her work through her emotions. Girls have too many emotions. That's a separate issue all into itself. _

He remembered Cara. Merlin had it been long since he'd thought about her. They'd dated briefly in his seventh year, something like four months, if he recalled correctly.

_I reckon I should write it down. It would help me decipher what actually happened and what I made up. But I don't really know where to start._

_It's... peculiar. How I'm feeling now. I'm used to girls fancying me. Used to fancying girls. I'm seventeen. Feeling like this shouldn't be a big deal, you know?_

_But it's because it's not a girl. It's Remus._

_And it doesn't end there. Something happened. And I think I've officially lost one of my best friends. _

_I don't know._

And that was where it ended.

Sirius's heart was loud in his chest. "What the hell?" He folded the letter and threw it on top of the others. He didn't remember that at all. What did that even _mean_? Why hadn't he been more bloody specific? How could something like that have happened with Remus and he'd just conveniently _forgotten_?

His hands strayed subconsciously to the next letter, and before he knew it, he'd torn it open, eyes searching through the words ravenously.

. . . . .

**Let me know what you think! Each review lengthens my life by one nanosecond! So that I can, er... write more? Yeah, sure. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Woah guys – thanks for the great response! I'm blushing, honestly :) And here we are again. Long time coming, huh? Sorry for the delay. School's insane. (But I'm on break now. Yippee.) Anyway, hope you enjoy! x **

. . . . .

_t w o _

. . . . .

Most of the papers were not dated, or were about the most irrelevant things imaginable. A transfiguration essay, half completed. A few notes passed between Sirius and James, in History of Magic class, most likely. They were all things that didn't particularly interest him, though he couldn't deny that seeing James's loopy scrawl across the spare pieces of parchment made his chest oddly hurt. His memories had a way of afflicting him without end, no matter how much time passed.

There was another letter, one dated _4 February 1978_. Holding the limp parchment in his fingers, he felt a ringing pass through his head. Not one of pain, but one of confusion, of desperation, of numbness. He didn't hurt, rather, because he didn't remember it at all.

Perhaps, though, that was the best he could really ask for.

_Sirius, myself & I, _

_For some reason or another I'm writing to myself again, and I don't entirely know why. To a future self, I suppose, so maybe one day I can look back onto my years with a knowledgeable eye, or some rubbish like that._

_Dunno, I suppose I feel more like I'm writing a diary. Reminder: I've got to look up some vanishing spell in case James ever comes across this. It'll be the world's greatest joke till the end of time. _

_Anyway, it's a funny thing, life lately. Moony actually acknowledged me today, the first time in what, a week? I hadn't expected him to, at least so quickly. I thought I'd at least have to confront him. But he didn't confront me, just nodded. Kind of. He's a loon. I don't get him. _

_I don't understand why he's got to act like this. What happened really wasn't anything at all. He only told me he fancied me. Indirectly, of course, so I can't be positive, but I don't reckon he would have reacted so poorly otherwise._

_Honestly, all he said was, "Mary's cross with me because I wanted to spend the day with someone I fancy more than her." So, yeah, he actually did use the word fancy, but he didn't say me specifically and he didn't even spend the whole day with me. After the words had left his mouth, though, he turned bright red and made up some pathetic excuse about having somewhere else to be. So, a bloke's only left to wonder._

_I'm not entirely sure if it's normal to feel guilty about it or not, but I've been sitting here just thinking about it, and I feel rotten. But, frankly, I don't know how anyone could expect me to just tell one of my best mates, "Yeah, lately I've been thinking that I fancy you, too."_

"What are you doing?"

At the sound of Remus's voice, Sirius emitted the most inhumane noise possible, nearly flipping over in his chair as he sent the formerly disheveled yet still somewhat orderly pile of parchment soaring through the air. He cursed as he grabbed for the letter he'd had in his hand, heart pumping furiously, swirling with wild, unthinkable thoughts.

"Er," Remus said, standing in the doorway awkwardly, paper bag in his hand. "Need some help?"

"No—no, just dandy!" He scooped it all up in his arms quickly, carrying it away far from Remus's reach. Help from Remus at that momentwas destined to be an incredibly uncomfortable situation, he concluded.

"All right," he drawled slowly, only the slightest bit suspicious. "I'll go put the food in the kitchen. Though I don't know if it's technically very safe to eat in that place you call the kitchen right now."

"I'll clean it up," Sirius said, then swiveled his head about quickly at the dozens of half-emptied boxes. "In a second," he amended.

Remus nodded, and Sirius watched as he disappeared down the creaky hallway before dropping his eyes back to the stack of letters. He found himself wondering if there were more, more that might tell him why he didn't remember any of it, more that told him the story he couldn't quite bring to the surface.

It occurred to him that he ought to ask Remus directly, but there was something about that that was so dastardly undesirable that he couldn't bring himself to even attempt to form the words. He could search through the rest of the letters now, or he could go and try to kill the dust moths in the kitchen. As much as he dreaded it, he knew he had no choice but to tackle the latter, because otherwise he would be pointlessly arousing his friend's suspicions.

That didn't mean he couldn't still find out about what had happened, though, because he most definitely would still be investigating Moony. But not _directly_, no, as indiscreetly as he could manage, if he could manage such a thing at all. Clenching his jaw, he resigned himself to resume his cleaning of the bedroom later, when Remus was far away and could not intrude.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, a loud, ear-piercing scream rang out through the house.

"_Stains of dishonor!_"

Sirius groaned aloud at the booming sound of his mother's voice, remarking internally how he had definitely not missed it in all of the years he'd been away. He moved for possibly the hundredth time to quiet her, wondering perhaps, if Lily were still around, if she might be able to find a way to shut the bloody woman up for good.

"_My house, violated and reeking of the smell of dirty half-breed blood, scum of the earth, disgrace to the Ancient and Noble_—"

When he reached the corridor in which his mother's portrait was situated, however, he was greeted by the gust of the curtains sweeping closed with force and the muffled sounds of protest coming from the portrait. Before it was Remus, wand still raised, expression still as stone. He only moved to meet Sirius's wandering gaze, but it was so subtle Sirius wondered if he'd actually moved at all.

"Hello," Moony murmured, lowering his wand slowly, unfazed.

Sirius chuckled. "You're getting rather good at that, aren't you?" It had been just about the thirtieth time she'd started going off, after all, and that wasn't an exaggeration in the slightest.

Remus seemed to mirror Sirius's own thoughts, saying, "If only we could find a way to get rid of her."

"Been trying since before I knew how to talk, mate." He shook his head in mock forlorn. "How's the kitchen coming along?"

"Fantastic," he answered dryly. "Much the same, really, but the sack of food on the table does set the room together rather nicely."

"Oh, lovely."

The two worked the rest of the afternoon, pausing only briefly for lunch, and dwelled in a sort of idle conversation in which Remus told Sirius about all the little things he'd missed over the years.

"Remember old Davey, year above us, all the girls were nutters over him? Saw him last weekend in Diagon Alley. He's gotten fat. And bald."

Sirius smiled wryly. Well, it'd be a lie to say he wasn't pleased to hear that. As an afterthought, he asked, "Ever heard from Cara?"

"Cara?"

"Markley."

"Oh. No, don't think so."

Sirius only nodded.

After a long moment, Remus asked, "Oh, you used to date her, didn't you? I'd completely forgotten about that."

"Yeah. It's been a while, I suppose." He didn't mention that he'd nearly forgotten, too, but ever since he'd read her name in the letter to himself he couldn't help but wonder. And it wasn't just Cara Markley he wondered about, but Remus and himself, too.

Sirius couldn't think of anyone else to ask about. Perhaps Snivellus.

But he'd seen the git far too recently for his liking, and for some reason, calling him _Snivellus_ didn't give him as much satisfaction as he remembered.

He thought back to the letter, though, and Remus's words from years ago drifted back to him: _Mary's cross with me because I wanted to spend the day with someone I fancy more than her..._

He didn't remember ever hearing the words, of course, but he recalled the writing, and that was enough for him to imagine it. He piped up a bit of courage and asked, "What about Mary?"

"Mary MacDonald? Oh, haven't heard from her since seventh year, I don't think."

"Why not?"

He gave a half-sigh, as if trying to remember it himself. "Said something that upset her, probably. She was always rather sensitive."

"Hmm," Sirius said, turning away only slightly, kneeling down to sweep out one of the cupboards. Not by hand, of course. Magic certainly was never-failingly wonderful. "I think I remember that."

"What, her being sensitive?"

"Well, no. What you said to her."

Remus raised a brow. "Really? What did I say?"

"Something like how you wanted to spend the day with someone you fancied more than her."

Sirius didn't turn around to gauge Remus's reaction, but the room fell dead silent of conversation, except for the dull groan of the ancient floorboards underneath Remus as he shifted uncomfortably. Sirius was wondering what had compelled him to say that—he was supposed to be investigating _indiscreetly_, after all—but Remus laughed, and his worry diminished.

"How do you even remember that?"

And they resumed their normal rhythm, working in sync to restore the shambles of a home that he'd never loved for a moment in his life. And when the night came over them and they declared themselves officially sick of banishing the vermin and vanishing the dust bunnies, Sirius knew more certainly than anything that Remus was hiding something from him.

In fact, he was hiding it quite desperately.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the prolonged absence! I will try to be better about that soon, but things got crazy with exams and everything. In the meantime, think of this as a slightly early Christmas present from me to you :) It's a bit short, but enjoy, and thanks for reading! x **

. . . . .

_ three_

. . . . .

Sirius told himself that after Remus left he would make himself a pot of tea and straight after go to bed without even so much as touching the lopsided pile of letters in the corner. He'd recited it several times in his head throughout the evening and he'd been focusing so fervently on it that when Remus left, he'd almost blurted it out to him instead of good-bye.

It had been a long day and Sirius (_apparently_) needed his sleep. Frankly, the past was the past and it wasn't going to change—especially because he didn't remember it—and it would have to wait. Considering he'd spent twelve years of nightmares in Azkaban, he reasoned with himself that he really _could_ use a night of pure, blissful slumber.

And, also, if anyone was asking, he didn't really care that much. Not really. The letters about Remus were peculiar, but what did that even mean? Perhaps he'd been drunk when he'd written them. There were plenty of explanations, and he wasn't really itching to get his hands on them. Not really.

He'd make tea, and then sleep.

Nevertheless, to his credit, Sirius followed his plan halfway through, but he found that he had not anticipated the restless energy that buzzed through his limbs after that single cup of tea. He'd buried himself in bed but found himself staring up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly to decipher between the black of his eyelids and the black of the room in a form of idle entertainment.

So, _naturally_, Sirius had no other choice but to read the letters, because there really wasn't much to _do_ in the house anyway, and he'd always been told as a lad that reading was ten times more beneficial than jinxing the neighbor's cat green. Not that he'd ever listened then, but now was certainly better than never.

And so he was absolutely justified in opening the letter at the top of the pile. Absolutely.

_Padfoot, _

_I will admit that you don't know very much about anyone. Just this morning the topic of the color of James's eyes came up, and I could have sworn up and down to anyone, bet my life on it I was so sure, that they were blue._

_But no, dammit, they're hazel. To be honest, though, I don't really think "hazel" counts as a color. Still, I was wrong, and I've gone almost seven bloody years without realizing what color Prongs's eyes are. Pitiful, eh? _

_But then I sat down and started thinking about how much I know about my best mates, and I _do_ know quite a bit, truth be told._

_For example, Moony's eyes are blue. (Really blue, not hazel, promise.) They're a light, pastel blue, all faded and distant, like the sky before it starts to turn dark. And he's a werewolf, but his Patronus is a beaver. He was the first one in our class to master the Patronus spell, in fact; he's bloody brilliant at Charms, but he insists his favorite class is Defense (I've told him on numerous occasions that he ought to marry that Defense book of his). He said once or twice that he'd like to be an Auror—we all would, though, wouldn't we?—and he studies whenever he's uncomfortable. Which is a lot. Practically every other second._

_His favorite color's red, but a warm red. Not too bright, not too dark. He pretends he knows German, and when he speaks it, well, it _sounds_ like German, but what do I know? He doesn't like the sun much, but he detests the moon, any sliver of it all. I can't say I blame him. I know I don't enjoy dealing with those rascal fleas every full moon, but I won't complain. (Right now, anyway.)_

_He's got loads of nervous twitches, too. There's this one face I like to pull that makes him go mad—it's eternally fail proof, I swear it—and all I have to do is stare at him without any expression. And that's crucial, because any emotion will kill it. Make it look like you're a sociopath and all the chocolate and firewhiskey in the world has exploded in a great massive fire and you've got nothing to live for anymore. Throw in some puppies, too, really exhaust the world of everything good in it, and you've got _the _look. _

_I don't know if he thinks I'm about to murder him or faint or go into an epileptic fit or what, but Merlin is it amusing. You ought to test him it on him, Padfoot, for old time's sake. Guarantee it will be worth it._

_So, anyway, in conclusion, I think I've proven my point. I know quite a bit, don't I? _

And then in a scrawl slightly lighter than the first, looking like something of an afterthought:

_Oh, bugger. Fine, I only know about Remus. What do I care about Peter's favorite color anyhow?_

Sirius blinked when he reached the end, as he always did. He sat for a moment, processing, and then gave in to the delirium. Slowly, he folded the letter, tucked it back into its pile, and blindly walked to his bed. For some reason or another, the lingering presence of the letter in his mind really didn't aid Sirius in getting to sleep.

When he finally woke the next morning, he was brought back into the light of the world with a pillow from the depths of hell slammed into his face. He cried out loudly, grabbing his wand from the nightstand as he threw the pillow off of his face and aimed the fiercest spell he could think of in the general direction of the disturbance. Following this was an additional cry, though not his own, and curiously (as well as slightly irritably), Sirius lifted his head and opened his eyes.

Before him was the very Remus Lupin himself, covered in a mass of white feathers, stuck to him in all places and suspended about him in mid-air. At the sight, Sirius began to laugh hysterically, burying his face back in his pillow to muffle the sounds of compulsive, child-like laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But _I'm_ not picking this back up," Remus remarked, picking feathers from his hair as if it was a normal everyday circumstance.

Sirius wiped the gleeful tears from his eyes and mumbled, "You were completely asking for it, mate."

"I was only about to kindly inquire as to why you were still in _bed _this late in the day."

"Why does it matter?" Sirius struck at the air dismissively with a hand. "I'm a free man!"

"Yeah, tell that to the Minister." Remus rolled his eyes, though in considerably good humor. "Padfoot, have you completely forgotten that you were hosting the very first meeting of the Second Order in your household at ten o'clock this morning?"

"Oh, hell! Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Sirius sprung up from his bed, stringing out a fountain of curse words in regard to his _awful rotten luck_ as he dashed to the bathroom to clean up. "Moony, say, what time is it, anyhow?"

He heard Remus's footsteps gradually leaving his bedroom, and with a tone physically equivalent to that of smirking, he responded distantly, "Six oh-three, to be precise."

"Are you joking—" Sirius burst the bathroom door open, shouting, "YOU ABSOLUTE ARSE—"

And the only sound he heard from his friend after that was the sound of his mischievous chuckling as he escaped down the stairs.

. . . . .


End file.
